Rather Be Drunk and in Love
by endlessblooooo
Summary: She was a woman of sharp wit, intense emotions, and an ability to hold her liquor that could not be possible. Although they would often clash, what with her being a mage and all, Fenris had let himself grow to trust her, to love her, and she gave it right back to him. So begins eight accounts of their developing relationship in between their adventures. (DA:I spoilers abound.)
1. The Hangover

(Story is slightly AU in the sense that Fenris did not immediately leave Hawke after sleeping with her. That's all there is to note.)

* * *

Year 5

The Hanged Man

On a Sunday

"_Maker._"

The glaring sun was punishment on her sore eyes as Hawke shuffled through the Lowtown streets. The city was barely moving at the hour, morning only just breaking over Kirkwall. The brownstone walls of the stretching buildings were illuminated on the warm glow of the sunrise, but that only meant one thing to Hawke; it would only get brighter. The one thing she needed now was to scuttle into a dark corner away from the light to ease her aching head. She cursed the nights for being too short to provide the darkness this feeling needed. So there she was at daybreak, crawling into the darkest hole she knew she could get to.

The Hanged Man - the worst bar in Kirkwall. Also sometimes the best.

Hawke wasn't even sure how she ended up at home, since she never remembered getting there. She had woken up in her bed, limbs akimbo and tangled up in the blankets. She had even managed to get under them, which normally would have puzzled her, but it required too much critical thought to even question it at that point. Soon she was pushing on the heavy door into her sanctuary. The smell of shitty ale welcomed her with a homey warmth, as did the dim light. Her eyes opened more fully as she made her way towards the bar counter, the bartender standing behind it cleaning mugs as if he never moved. He noticed her right away, giving her a kurt nod in his friendliest greeting.

"Serah Hawke," he grunted.

She gave him a grumble that might as well have ben his name, and he was already pouring out her hangover cure. He handed it over just as Hawke put down three coppers, her hand moving from her coin purse to the counter in a flash. She wanted to pound it back, but she found herself sipping it neat as she wandered towards an empty table at the far end of the bar. The bartender knew to just keep them coming. Hawke stared into the cup, amber liquid sitting still at the bottom. She drank down the rest in one swift motion, squeezing her eyes shut in preparation for the burning in her throat, but it was underwhelming. She was just that used to it, or perhaps too numb from the night before.

Hawke continued to stare at the cup while she felt the alcohol already bringing her back into a more conscious state (although it would take much more to actually get there). What happened last night? It was the million sovereign question, and a question she asked herself so many times and a question she never had an answer for. Not even one her associates could answer, either, as they would most likely be stumbling into her company any time that morning. She considered crossing into the inn side of the bar, rousing Varric and getting him to tell her. He never got as drunk as she did, or was at least able to hold his alcohol better, but he always ended up exaggerating the story, so she had stopped asking. At least, she hoped he was exaggerating all the time. It was hard to tell with him.

It seemed Hawke didn't have to wait long for company, seeing someone sitting in front of her, slumped over the same way she was. Hawke's eyes trailed up from the table, first at a pair of breasts, and then quickly up to Isabela's grim face. Her blue bandana was tied messily to hide her tangled hair, golden eyes looking dull against her jewelry.

"You look like shit, Hawke," she mumbled. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't bothered to even glance at a looking glass that morning. The confused look she gave Isabela caused her to laugh, the smile already bringing some life to her face. Hawke simply sighed, looking back into her cup, willing it to refill itself.

"No need." Isabela produced a bottle from her side, topping the glass up. "I knew we'd be needing this after last night." She poured some for herself, clinked her glass against Hawke's and they both threw back the whiskey. The pirate began to repeat the process.

"Speaking of which," Hawke said right after gulping down her third drink that morning, "what happened last night?" It was worth a shot.

"You're asking the wrong person. Maker, that got out of hand." Isabela frowned, trying to recall any detail. "I don't usually let it get that bad, for myself, at least." She smiled slowly, a memory coming back to her as she poured out another two shots. "Let's see, then. There was the round of Wicked Grace before anybody got really drunk. Didn't last as long as it usually did because I think you and I were both loaded. I remember not even being able to-" she cut herself off with a laugh before spilling any cheating secrets she was about to spill. "Right after that was the chugging contest, which you instated."

"Right," Hawke nodded. "Who won that?"

"Oh, you did. You made a big deal out of it, I do recall." The pirate leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest, giving Hawke a satisfied smirk. She was afraid to know any more.

"Who lost?" she asked anyway.

"Fenris, of course, I don't think Tevinter slaves really get the chance to practice. But I was surprised you got him to partake anyway, repressed as he is. He was pretty pissed off at you."

Hawke just rolled her eyes. "When is he not? In general."

Isabela shrugged. "He adores you, though. It's not easy to tell when he's," she waved her hands in front of her, gesturing something, "all glarey and broody, but when you aren't looking…" She smiled, seeming to drift off in thought for a moment. "Those sad eyes are just so pretty." Quickly she scrunched her nose up, snapping out of her thoughts. "Anyway, past that I was too far gone to tell you anything more. Varric might know, or even Fenris, next time you see him."

Hawke was reaching over to the bottle, pouring out another portion of whiskey for them, intending to sip her own rather than knock it back again. "I just want to know how I got home last night. I don't remember at all."

"There are worse things you could not remember."

"And be glad you don't." Varric had arrived in the bar now, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Hawke's face lit up when she saw him take a seat between herself and Isabela. He wasn't drinking first thing, evidence he didn't have a hangover like the other two.

"Actually, I'm not glad," Hawke smiled. "I really do want to know what I got up to last night."

The dwarf stared at her like he hadn't been heard the first time. A sweet smile at him and he sighed, rubbing his temples. Perhaps he was, too, hungover, just not to the extent as her. "Okay, I guess I can divulge a little bit. At what point did you black out?"

"Chugging contest. I don't remember that I apparently won."

He laughed sharply. "Alright, you gotta hear this one." He cleared his throat, pausing for a moment to see the scene:

_"Alright, we have our contestants lined up right here."_

_Hawke was swaying in her spot standing at the end of the long table in the back of the bar. The noise around her did nothing but egg her on as she wobbled in her spot, heading a table of half-aware drunks like she was their queen. Isabela laughed loudly as she offered an arm for support, which Hawke gripped onto._

_"Okay, so," she began to slur, looking out over her blurry subjects. "First one t-, First one to drink six pints, which're all laid out in fronna ya… Wins the competition. We have, me, myself, Hawke. Contender number one. Nummer two," she gestured beside her, "Isabela. An we also have my good dwarf friend, Varric, and Fenris, the attractive and handsome elf."_

_Fenris was glaring at her, unable to believe he had been talked into this. Sure he had a bit to drink himself, and that had likely lowered his inhibitions enough to partake, but as he was surrounded by slurring drunks Hawke started to name off as other participants. It was likely she was just making their names up as she went._

_"Alright, on three. One… two…" Hawke held for effect as the others waited on her word with baited breath. "Three!"_

_The other players who were watching Hawke out of the corners of their eyes quickly noticed it was a spectacle to behold. Never had Isabela seen someone so cleanly gulp back, uninterrupted, cheap beer at the speed she did. Several patrons not participating even ceased their conversations to watch Hawke, one by one, demolish the six pints in front of her. By the time she had slammed down the final mug, the rest of the bar had erupted in cheer and applause as she threw her arms in the air, spinning around in one giant wobble to greet the shouting. She took a bow, only to fail to come up after it, landing right on her backside as she attempted it. Varric and Isabela picked her up off the floor, but she quickly escaped their grasp, leaping up onto the table with a newfound agility. She paraded across the tabletop, waving her arms around, joining in with the shouting as the losing contestants picked up their beers to prevent them from spilling._

_"Bow down, ya sons of bitches!" she bellowed in a deep, commanding voice, soaking up the admiration. She hopped off the end of the table ungracefully, catching herself just short of spraining an ankle. Everyone else who had lost the competition was already drinking their remaining beers._

_Some time later, but not much later, the others had lost sight of Hawke, like she had just slipped right out of the room. Fenris was the first to notice it, his large eyes growing larger and his head quickly whipped around trying to locate her. "Where's Hawke?"_

_"Hmm?" Varric answered, almost in a state of dosing off. He lazily looked around the bar. "Shit."_

_"She's at the bar, some guy there," Isabela answered without looking up, her head resting against her arm on the table. Sure enough, she was right, Hawke sitting alone at a table with one other shady looking man. Fenris stood up, surprised at just how much of his balance he had lost already. When he walked over to the table, he tried to stay in a straight line, failing, as he approached the other man she was sitting with from behind. On the table in front of them sat an array of six tumblers. Before he said anything, Hawke took one, put it to her lips and took the shot._

_"Hawke, what are you doing?" Fenris growled not without a hiccup, and her eyes met his, finally noticing him. Just looking into her eyes, he could tell she really wasn't there._

_"Oh, Fenris! Just partaking in a bit of gambling."_

_"What kind of gambling?" He glared at the shady figure in front of him who had remained silent._

_She held up one finger, about to explain. "It's really simple. There's six shots of whiskey here, and in one of them there is some poison, and whoever gets out of this alive-"_

_"That's enough." Fenris shook his head and walked around behind Hawke, grabbing one of her arms and dragging her up out of her seat. She protested weakly as he began to walk her towards the other table. He simply waved to Varric and Isabela who just barely acknowledge him as he walked out the door into Lowtown._

Hawke glared grimly at Varric as he concluded his story, beaming away. "And that's the story, Hawke. You should be glad you have someone like Fenris who cares about you."

She rolled her eyes. "Bullshit, Varric, I know how much you lie."

"It's the truth! Or at least the truth the way I heard it."

Sighing, Hawke pressed her fingers to her temples. "I should probably go apologize."

Isabela laughed. "I'm sure he understands. If he was willing to take you home after that display, through Lowtown at night, no less, I don't think saying sorry is going to do much.

"No, I really should." Hawke looked at the bottle of whiskey but decided against having any more, feeling her headache had gone away. She had acheived the perfect spot between hungover and drunk, still feeling stable, with just a touch of heat on her face, but all the pain gone. She stood up, confident that her limbs were not turning to jelly, and Isabela cocked an eyebrow.

"Right now? Well…" She poured more whiskey for herself as Varric left them to approach the bartender. "Sex can cure a hangover, supposedly."

"Not really what I'm after," Hawke said. It was probably a lie.


	2. The Tattoo

Year 6

Hightown

On a Friday

The Champion of Kirkwall was back, strolling through the Hightown market with her head held high. The bounty just paid to her for rescuing the Orlesian noble's prized cat was burning a hole in her coin purse, and each item on display at each vendor's tent was catching her eye. Shining swords, lush fabrics were all glinting in the sunlight in such a pretty way it was hard to resist. But there was only one thing on her mind, one person, specifically, as she resisted the temptation and moved out of the market square, silently vowing to have a proper look later. The ancient stones paving the streets of Hightown felt warmly familiar as she walked the same path she always did when she came this way.

Even in the two years since her defeat of the Arishok, Hawke still turned heads in Kirkwall. She walked briskly around people, her excitement giving her a bounce in her step. Walking through the estates, she kept her eyes peeled for a certain hidden and decrepit door. Every year that went by, it seemed that the door looked worse and worse, but she supposed that was the point. Fenris definitely wanted to keep his presence in the borrowed mansion a secret, and she supposed he was doing a good job by doing nothing about the vines that grew denser and denser. The neighbourhood was relatively crowded that day so nobody noticed when Hawke slipped into the alcove containing the door. She knocked on it three times, hard, to be sure he heard it. He knew she was coming home that day, so he should have been near the front of the house to know when she arrived.

She waited not long before the door swung open inside and she bounded into the elf's arms. Making sure to close the door behind her, she threw her arms around his neck, always expecting him to be taller than her. She laughed with joy as he returned the embrace, feeling his chest that was so easy for her arms to envelope completely.

"I'm happy to see you return in one piece," Fenris said with just a hitch of laughter in his voice. Hawke pulled away to see him smiling and she gave him a knowing look.

"Okay, I know you're still sour about not being able to come," she sighed. He held up his hands, shaking his head.

"No need. I realize now you were probably right about it."

She kept her wrists crossed just behind his neck and moved in to kiss him. "I _had_ to let Anders come, it was about a cat. I wouldn't hear the end of it. Oh, I do have something for you."

Hawke pulled her hands away from Fenris and opened a pouch on her belt, withdrawing a small but heavy sack. Fenris held out his hand and she dropped it, hearing the clinking of coin. "I owe you, anyway. If it were any other animal, I would have taken you."

"Hawke, no, I-"

"Don't argue. Orlesians really have no idea what a moderate reward is." Hawke kissed him again, and his hand was at her waist, pulling her in, keeping their lips together. It was there she remembered just how much she missed him. After four days of absence, she didn't think it would be enough to truly need his touch, but here she was, unwilling to let go of him in that moment, her heart beating quicker and quicker. Her stomach leapt when she felt his hands trailing lower to her hips, palms on her arse. It still surprised her how daring he had gotten in their romance lately. For nearly two years when they first started, he had always been so gentle and so meek, almost never instigating anything with her. He was too shy, too afraid to offend when it was clear he wanted to kiss her, and she found herself always instigating. Soon enough she learned to let him come to her, let him know she wanted it, and if she didn't, she would let him know.

Hawke moaned lightly against his mouth just before pulling away, eyes half-lidded. She laughed a small laugh as she brushed a piece of his hair away from his face. His eyes were, for once, serene, but she detected an underlying trace of desire. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip.

"Well, I know it's only the afternoon, and dinner won't be ready for a few hours, but…"

Fenris just smiled in response and Hawke didn't require any more answers. She took his hand, free of its spiky clawed gauntlet and they left through the front door. Once back in the streets of Hightown, holding another's hand drew even more attention to herself. Most people knew of Fenris, the elf from Tevinter with the strange tattoos, but that was it. Hawke didn't listen, but she was sure the chatter was about how she was supposed to carry on her noble name if she was sleeping with _him._ Somehow she thought they were forgetting about the fact that her nobility wasn't exactly solid. Luckily nobody knew of her apostate father, at least.

At last they were in front of the Amell ancestral home, Hawke withdrawing her key and unlocking the front door (no break-ins from Isabela yet this year, she must have been growing considerate). They were greeted by a loud barking noise and the large Mabari bounding towards her. Hawke dropped to her knees, giving him a big hug, rubbing her hands roughly over his short fur with affection.

"Hey boy!" She kissed the top of his head as he moved over the Fenris, letting him pat him on the head while panting heavily.

"Go find Sandal, boy!" Hawke commanded, causing the Mabari to tilt his head to the side before smiling and running off towards the kitchens. She drew back to her full height, her fingers clasping around Fenris's once again. She lead him past the fireplace, up the small staircase and to her bedroom, closing the door behind them.

There was no fire burning in her room, but the curtains on the high windows were pulled open, letting plenty of the afternoon sun fill the room. Hawke leaned against the door, a smile still playing on her lips as she watched Fenris, waiting for him to make the first move. She eyed him up and down, waiting for him to either take her in his arms again or tense up. He approached her, kissing her tenderly, and she tasted his joy at finally having her alone with him again. Quickly she noticed his nervousness melting away as he undid the buckle on her belt, letting it hit the floor, confident there was nothing breakable in there. Hawke pushed away from the door, guiding him to sit down on the bed. She straddled his lap, hiking up her robes to spread her knees over him. Fenris's hands supported her back, her thumbs running over his face. Their kiss became increasingly needy and Hawke's hips were already rocking a rhythm into his.

With reluctance, Hawke stood up off his lap, only to begin fussing with the fastenings on the robe. "Lie back, on there," she said, sounding like a command in her frustration. He did as she asked, watching her struggle with the robe until Hawke rolled her eyes at herself. She picked up the bottom of it, bunching it up before hauling it over her body. She was hunched forward, pulling the entire garment over her head and off her arms, leaving it inside out and in a pile on the floor. The entire movement was not elegant in the slightest, and Fenris had to laugh.

"Shut up," she said with a chuckle. She remained only in her underclothes, one knee on the bed. "Can't do that with armour, we'd be here all day. Score one for _mages_ and our robes, which are, you know… robes."

Fenris rolled his eyes, his hands resting on either of her hips as she sat perched on his. She just smiled down at him, feeling his thumb casually hook and unhook in the waistband of her underpants. His eyes were scanning her up and down, taking in all her exposed flesh. She wasn't all hard muscles formed over years of fighting, like himself. Her body was soft, lean, all beautifully undefined with skin unspoiled by scars (or lyrium). But soon enough his eyes were fixated on one significant spot on her. Her hip, just peaking over her underwear, was something that perplexed him for a long time, ever since he saw her wearing this little. There was a small drawing, the silhouette of a bird in flight, not solid, just an outline etched into her skin on her left hip. It was small enough to be mostly covered by his thumb. Fenris had never asked about it. He was aware what it was, Isabela had explained many people get things called tattoos, but those people were sailors, and Hawke didn't seem the type to want what he had heard sailors liked.

Perhaps one day he would ask about it, but his mind was elsewhere the instant Hawke leaned over him to kiss him again, long black hair curtaining their faces. She smiled against his lips, warm fingers trailing up his shirt, pulling it up and they broke apart only for its removal. Hawke relaxed her arched back, her body moulding into his, their lips moving together lazily. She liked to take it slow, give them time to appreciate each other. He knew the drill by now, sliding his hands ever so smoothly down her soft skin, over the curve of her bum, fingertips ghosting over the backs of her thighs just out of reach, hearing the quivering moan escape her mouth. She pulled her knees up, giving him a better grip on her legs, their kisses now heavy, desperate panting in between them

They were so in synch, almost able to read each other's minds, but Hawke suddenly broke that by sitting up. Her arms reached behind her back and the cloth covering her breasts fell away, carelessly thrown off the bed as she dismounted him, turning over and inviting him on top.

"Not like you to roll over, Hawke," Fenris said, his voice husky, lilting only at the end in a joking manner.

"Only so I can witness that adoring gaze of yours from another angle." Her cheeks were pink with arousal, mouth quirking into a soft smile that gave Fenris no choice but to catch her lips again. Her legs tightened around him, but he gently pushed them apart peeling off the last of her underwear, exposing her completely. A patch of her dark hair was between her legs, and a faint but surprising tan line was always under her smalls; somehow her skin got paler. Fenris hesitated, wanting to devour her, but he went the softer route, his mouth beginning to trail kisses down her body. First her breasts, then further down, taking special care to kiss her tattoo, then between her legs.

"You spoil me, Fenris," she said with a laugh. He didn't bother teasing, he never did, he never had to, and when he kissed her where she needed it the most, her head craned back. _Oh._

Hawke had no words to utter, only sounds as her back arched and un-arched, writhing on the bed with Fenris only managing to keep her still with his hands firmly on her hips. Each flick of the tongue, stroking her walls, circling her clit, all so slow but it sent her heart racing. Her breath came in laboured gasps and her hands ran over her breasts, thumbs running over nipples. Soon the pleasure began to spread further than her core, creeping up to her stomach, spreading out over her thighs. The build-up to her climax always started this way, like the rest of her body was becoming aware of the stimulation. Previously only producing low moans, her breath began to hitch, high-pitched whines filling the room, signalling him to stop. He pulled away, breath thick with her, and began to slink over her, kissing up back the way he came.

"I aim to please," Fenris said with a satisfied smirk after a moment of listening to her breathing. Hawke met him with a grin and then, using all her energy, flipped them back over to straddle him.

"You do." She could feel his hardness just underneath her, so she wasted no time, pulling down his loose trousers and underclothes in one fluid motion. She held him for only a brief moment before moving over top, feeling him enter her as she eased down. She began slowly, the feeling of control coming back to her legs. Her gaze was cast downwards, only half paying attention to his face, which any other time would be unreadable, but in her bed, he looked just as dreamy as she did. She picked up speed when she heard him moan, and as always, his fingers began to trace near her hips again. He loved to hold her, and she placed her hands over his, feeling his lyrium markings tingling under her palms.

The lyrium tattoos never actually glowed when they were in bed together, but she always expected them to, somehow. Seeing him bared on the bed, his dark skin contrasted against the white of the markings, Hawke always found him truly beautiful. He was lean like only an elf was, but made up entirely of hard muscle, something easily missed by simply looking at him. His skin while covered in the markings was also marred by very old looking scars, ones Hawke wasn't sure she ever wanted to know their stories.

The second she saw his eyebrows begin to knit together, she knew he was close. Quickly she moved one of his hands to her centre, and he knew how to touch her the way she liked. Again she felt the pleasure spreading through her at his touch and she began to ride even faster. She bit her lip for a few seconds before her mouth dropped open and she let out the most satisfied of groans. She let the feeling rip through her, relishing the white heat all in her legs, her back, everywhere, before her attention was snatched back by Fenris growling out a short string of curses under his breath. She felt him jerk, then moan as much as he would allow himself, and then he lay still against her pillows, panting while his hand remained at her core.

Her climax began to fade and her rhythm wound down to a stop. Hawke stayed over him, catching her breath before catching his gaze and after a second, they simultaneously broke out into laughter. It was inexplicable, but for some reason they never once failed to, perhaps at how seriously they must have been taking themselves, each other.

"Well," Hawke said, shrugging her shoulders, still on top of Fenris and not making any effort to move. "That was a good welcome home."

"Consider yourself very welcome." Fenris smiled as she left her position, lying down just beside him, placing her head on his chest. His arms were around her as she leaned in to kiss him, long and soft. They laid there silent, in the bliss of each other's warmth, ankles crossing together absent-mindedly. The sun outside had gone down since they arrived, and soon their bodies would be bathed in rich golden light of the evening. And in that time, Hawke would be sure to hear a knock at her door, Bodahn calling her for supper, going off on a rambling tangent of what was on the menu.

"I have to ask you something." Hawke lifted her head when Fenris's voice broke the silence. Her curious gaze answered him wordlessly.

"What is that marking on your," he began, avoiding any word too crude in the moment, even if that word was just "hip". "That tattoo, is it called?"

"Oh," Hawke said, someone downcast, and a new redness bloomed on her cheeks. "I suppose I should tell you about that one." She smiled, resting against him again before recalling the story. "A long time ago, back in Lothering, I knew this boy. We were maybe sixteen. We had been friends for a long time, his family knew us, and would never rat us out to the Templars, all that." She paused, waiting for his inevitable comments on that situation, but there was silence. "So. I was in a relationship with him, and the first time we… Well, he had these markings on his chest that I had just never seen anything like before."

Hawke was now tracing over the lyrium marks on Fenris's chest, trying to remember exactly what that boy's tattoos looked like. Surely they could never look as good as them. "He explained to me what they were, and I really wanted one. So he gave me one. Took forever, despite how small it is." She lifted her hips up, giving him a clear view of the drawing. "It's a hawk, see! How clever he was, really."

Fenris looked back at her face when she relaxed into the bed again. "How did he do it?"

"With a sewing needle." Hawke placed one finger on his chest to demonstrate. "Dipped in ink, and then," she pressed her fingertip into his skin, gently, "poked right in, over and over. It leaves a permanent stain underneath enough layers of skin. So far, mine's still there."

He tried to wince, but he still looked curious. "Sounds like it hurts."

She nodded. "Definitely not pleasant. But there's something very intimate about it." Her voice had dropped to a purr as her finger traced over his markings once again. "They can't make you rip out someone's heart, though. _And_ if you don't use enough healing salve, it can get grossly infected."

"Sounds very romantic." He was trying to sound disinterested now that he knew the truth, but she could tell he was still curious, considering it, even. She wondered if she had any sewing needles handy. "We better not fall asleep, Bodahn will be bothering us soon enough."

Fenris kissed her again, closing his eyes. Hawke rested against him, holding him for warmth, continuing to trace his markings with a lazy finger. Her eyes were heavy, and even in daylight, she felt her lids closing slowly.


	3. The Run

Year 8

The Free Marches

On a Monday

"So this is it, then? You're sure about this?"

Merrill's usually bright green eyes were clouded over with a dull sadness. Her lower lip protruded just slightly as she found it difficult to look up. She took a long sigh, her slight frame quivering while holding back tears. "Yes. I'm sure, Hawke."

It was mid-morning and Hawke was on edge at just how close she was to the city. The group stood alone in the forests under the peak of Sundermount, Kirkwall being just visible in the distance. The sun was equally shining and obscured by the pattern of clouds moving overhead. Merrill was rubbing her hands together absently, remembering just how close her clan was to these parts, but that was long ago. Now they were dead, and she still felt a lump rise in her throat when she thought too long about them. As much as she had told herself she was through living for them, their memory still nagged the back of her mind with a guilt she would never completely overcome. She looked up, seeing Hawke's concerned gaze upon her, a rare sight. She was always so cocky, unwilling to let the serious things get to her, making jokes at the worst of times.

"Oh. I'm fine, Hawke," she began, hoping it would wipe that sad look right off Hawke's face. It really did make her feel uncomfortable. "It's just… I'm remembering when we first met around here, you know?"

Merrill was relieved when she saw Hawke's lips twitch into a smile. "That was a long while ago, it was."

She could see Fenris shifting behind her, irritated by his first memories of her as well. Within a few minutes of their meeting, she had revealed her use of blood magic to them, and he was remembering _that_ of all things. Despite the close year they had spent together travelling outside of Kirkwall, depending on each other for survival, personal feelings aside, he was still made twitchy over that first meeting. Neither did he ever like being left alone with her, either, despite Merrill swearing off her use of blood magic since the incident with the Keeper.

Suddenly Hawke's smile became weak and she stepped forward with her arms open. Merrill threw her arms around her friend, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. "Promise me you'll write," she mumbled.

"Of course, Merrill." Hawke pulled away from her, keeping her hands on her shoulders.

"Maybe we'll meet again some day," she said.

"I'm sure we will." Hawke let go of her shoulders, leaving Merrill alone. "Are you sure you'll be okay on your way?"

"Of course I will." She should have felt offended, but she was used to Hawke being worried by now.

"Say hello to Aveline and Varric for me."

"Definitely. Goodbye, Hawke. Goodbye, Fenris." She gave one last smile before she slowly turned around, setting off on the trail towards Kirkwall, just before hearing the sentiment returned to her. It was a long day ahead of her.

Hawke turned around to see Fenris standing silently, albeit his posture wasn't so tense, and he seemed slumped over. He gave her a glance that told her once and for all he really was sad to see Merrill leave them. She faced his way and walked over holding out her hand to take his. Even with those steel claws, she always held it so delicately. "So, what now?" she asked him with a smile.

He took a while to think, but he returned a cocky smile to her. "I say we're finally alone."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, admit it. It really sucks we are now the only ones left."

As Hawke began to walk forward, Fenris followed, putting an arm around her waist. "Has it really been a year?"

It was a daunting thought, but with the battle against Orsino and Meredith remaining so fresh in her mind, it was easy to forget just how long ago it really was. "Not quite, I don't think. That happened in May, it's March."

"Huh." Fenris frowned next to her. "It seems so far away. Like a whole other world."

Everything seemed like a whole other world to her these days. As they walked through the forest again, due northwest, Hawke began to think about her times in Kirkwall. For the past almost year she had refrained from thinking about it, afraid she would actually start to miss Kirkwall enough to try going back. But everything about the city that she had remembered fondly was gone. Truly her home had become her friends there, but now things were different. Aveline was still there, and she had remained there the entire time. Varric, Isabela and now Merrill had all stayed with them for some time, but they eventually broke apart, heading off in their own directions. Isabela had finally had enough of solid land and left for the sea only a few months later. From what she disclosed in her letters, she had joined the Raiders, doing what she had always done. Varric was similar, staying with their group only to lay low before returning to the city to manage the family businesses. He was the first to leave them. Merrill had tagged along the longest, but she was losing sight of the point to their travels, and decided her efforts were best left with her own people back in Kirkwall.

Fenris had stayed with her, and was always going to stay with her no matter where they went. And in the past ten months, they did have their fun. Their travels had lead them out of the Free Marches as they explored Antiva and all it had to offer. The coasts were beautiful, and nobody knew who she or Fenris were, which was always a relief. Still, they couldn't stay in one place for too long, not while her reputation was still besmirched. There was no telling just how quickly people would catch on to her, or what their opinions might be.

That night, they set up camp the way they always did, only now one person short. They put up their tent and built a fire, despite the balmy March night. In just their linen shirts and trousers, they sat next to each other making small talk while idly interlacing fingers. She was used to looking up and seeing Merrill sitting across from them, looking down at something she was making or mending, but now that space was empty. After a lull in their conversation happened, Hawke's mind began to wander. As much as she didn't allow herself to reminisce about her time in Kirkwall, the absence of Merrill was making her think only of that.

"Remember that time Isabela pinned that man's hand to the bar with her dagger?" she blurted, that specific memory surfacing in her mind for no particular reason.

Fenris's thumb had been stroking her index finger for the past couple minutes, but now it stopped. "Why bring it up?"

Hawke laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I don't know. But do you remember?"

She could feel him smiling. "I do. I am surprised you do, or how you remember anything that ever happened in the bar."

"Oh, shut up. I remember more of the Hanged Man than you think." When the name of the bar came out of her mouth, she felt a something strange, and she figured Fenris also felt it. It was easy to think of those memories taking place at some bar, but not the _one_ bar, and the place everyone truly knew her name. They always shouted it when she walked in, celebrating her arrival. All those tidbits of information came rushing back to her, and where she expected them to make her sad, she couldn't help but grin.

"Do you remember the time Isabela bet ten sovereigns, so sure he had a winning hand, and then Varric took it all anyway?"

"And she was cheating!"

"Or that time Aveline walked in when Varric was about to start that fight between those two guards."

Hawke was beginning to laugh. "And made us bet one which one was going to win!" She leaned into Fenris's shoulder, feeling his arm around her. A shiver went down her back despite the heat. Maybe it was a good thing to remember once and a while.

"I love you," Fenris said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper when he said it, as it almost always did.

"I love you, too." She lifted her head to kiss his cheek, and a second time when he faced her, their lips brushing together tentatively. For a while longer, they kept recalling tales from The Hanged Man, filling the evening with laughter, something they hadn't been able to do for a long while. After a time, they let the fire die down, walked just past their campsite, laying together under the light of nearly full moon. One benefit to finally being alone was that their intimacy wasn't just reserved for the privacy of their own tent in the middle of the night, always careful to be quiet lest someone else was still awake.

Into the night, the rain began to fall, and they retreated to their tent, both of them being unable to sleep. Hawke's head lay on Fenris's chest, listening to his heartbeat, his arm around her bare shoulders. All joyous thoughts had left her mind as she tried to sleep, instead being overridden with doubts. Since they were alone, it seemed like they needed a new path ahead of them instead of the seemingly random wandering they had spent the past months doing. Now that the travelling party was on the same wavelength of "whatever you wanna do, I'll do it", she wondered if maybe they could have a purpose again. It wasn't the first time she had thought of it, but it wouldn't be the last.

"What do you want to do?" she asked, her mind tired and words coming out a bit mushed.

He just responded with a sound, tired but still not finding sleep.

"I mean, what should we do next?"

Fenris was quiet after that, but she could tell he was thinking. "Slavers," he mumbled. It took a second, but it began to register in her mind exactly what he meant. Truly it had been a while since Fenris was able to kill something he hated as brutally as he liked to.

"And where should we go for that?"

"Tevinter." He hadn't hesitated in the slightest, he was so sure of it. Hawke felt a surge of fear, but mixed with it was also excitement.

"You want to go all the way to Tevinter to kill slavers?"

He exhaled deeply. "Just outside. Along the borders, there's lots of them there."

Hawke smiled, and just like that, it seemed their new purpose was set out before them. If Fenris knew her, he knew he would be seeing her a lot more angry than he was used to once they began to live up to that purpose. She had never seen slavers in Ferelden when she was growing up, and never even thought that such a thing could really exist. When she ran into it in Kirkwall, the true human horrors that existed in the world, she couldn't help but feel an uncontrollable hatred. It seemed their new purpose was going to be fitting. The Champion of Kirkwall was no more, just a couple of renegade slaver killers. She had never wanted to feel like such a hero.

"It'll be dangerous."

"I know." His arm around her tightened its hold ever so slightly. "But what isn't dangerous?"

Her mind was finally at ease, and that night for the first time in a while, they both slept like stones. She had exactly what she needed, and the plans for the future were set out before them, however vague, but they were there. In the morning, they packed up before hunting for some breakfast, the both of them eager to get going on their current quest. They had laughed and joked once they were on their way north about The Hanged Man once again, all lingering bits of sadness leaving her.

A part of her was just happy Fenris had made a decision for them for once. After years of following at her whim, and dealing with the often bloody aftermath of her choices, Hawke was being lead by Fenris, on something noble and not dubious for once. She found it oddly liberating to have cut ties with everyone, as awful as that sounded. In a way, spending the rest of her life with only Fenris seemed romantic and heroic, two ideals she wouldn't have cared for a few years ago. She did hope to be able to see their friends again at some point, but for now, her life being clear before her seemed just right. It was simple, albeit dangerous, but as long as the world didn't explode, it was going to be her life.


	4. The Fever

Year 7

The Hanged Man

On a Saturday

"You know what's terrible?" Hawke asked, one eye squeezed shut as if to focus on what was ahead of her. Varric was watching her with a curious gaze as she tapped the table with her index finger to illustrate her point.

"What's terrible, Champion?" he humoured her, corners of his mouth coming up in a tricky smile.

"My mother came here to take back the Amell's nobility." She trailed off, frowning, wondering if Varric was the person she should be having this conversation with. She looked back down at her nearly empty ale, finishing it off before saying anything more.

"What's so terrible about that?" Varric asked.

Hawke shook her head. "No, it's just I'm the only one left in our family and so far…" Once again, she didn't finish her thought.

"What is it, Hawke? You can tell me." Varric was goading her now, playfully nudging her arm with his elbow.

"I know what this is about." Isabela stepped in towards their table, taking a seat next to Hawke. She looked annoyed when she sat down, having heard this conversation many times in the past few months. She wasn't about to stop Hawke, but her glare was warning enough. Hawke after six pints wasn't about to.

"I've just been thinking, and I don't know why I'm feeling this way." A strong blush came over her face and she brought a hand up to cover it.

"You've been feeling this way because this always happens after enough beer."

Hawke placed her hand on Isabela's back, looking her straight in the eye. "And you are so supportive of me, and that's why I love having you as a friend."

"Okay, what is going on?" Varric said through his laughter. The dwarf looked between the two, just as Hawke was about to stand up, her eyes on the bar, ready for another pint. Isabela put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to sit down, much to Hawke's disapproval.

The pirate just made a sound of disgust. "No more for you! Have a couple more and when Fenris comes by, you'll be leaving begging him to hump a baby into you!"

Varric's eyes widened and any trace of his smirk went away. Isabela shook her head disappointedly and Hawke shook off her shoulder.

"No, that's not- What are you talking about?" she whispered, completely drunk, feigning confusion poorly.

"I'm, uh, really not the person you should be having this conversation with, Hawke." Varric cleared his throat, taking his drink with him, Isabela waving him off as he left their table, probably heading back to his suite for the night.

"I do not do that," Hawke shot back at Isabela, sounding like she was in complete disbelief. She was fully in the room still, her drunkenness mostly influenced by some strange emotions she had been having lately. It was something she would never share with any single one of her friends, but it always happened when she was sorting through her family records, reading up on the Amell timeline, all the families that had branched off and blended in with the other noble families of Kirkwall. And luckily the track record was fairly clean, no arranged marriages ending up in strings of affairs or attempted murders. It was actually fairly boring, but she found herself fascinated by some of the women in her line.

It was strange but whenever she saw the name of one of her own family, a woman, like her great grandmother, or some generations-old cousin, she would study their children's names and her mind began to wonder. What would compel that woman, now a mother, to name her children what they did? How did one come up with a name for another person? A person that would grow up and have their own life, bearing a name they did not choose, but one they owned since they were born. Such thoughts ran through her mind until she had to shut whatever book she was looking at and think harder.

She tried to think back to when Carver and Bethany were born. She had only been three years old, but very faint memories were there, probably some of her earliest. She could distinctly remember the two of them, tiny babies swaddled up in blankets in their small house. Her parents would constantly whisper their fears about raising the unexpected pair of twins, but their faces were always filled with joy and love as they gazed down at their tiny faces.

"Oh, come on, Hawke," Isabela muttered. "You absolutely have baby fever. At your age? It's normal."

She did her best to look offended. "My age? What does that mean?"

She snorted. "Hawke, you aren't much younger than me. I know what it's like, only difference is you actually have someone devoted to you. Makes it much worse."

Hawke shook her head in denial again. "Please, he doesn't even live with me."

"Something I will never understand, but not the point. Maybe Aveline can give you better advice than mine. My advice, which is, don't get so tied down, but I don't think you want to hear that."

Hawke was about to argue, but she stopped. Her mind was starting to drift elsewhere, back to Carver and Bethany. Lately she had been finding it easier to think about her family, three years since she had lost her mother to that twisted blood mage. For a long time it was hard, but it had been getting easy for her to slip into daydreaming about the feeling of having a family without getting teary. She had decided she just missed it. As much as her friends were a family to her, she was lacking something more. Fenris was good at filling that space, but as she had noted, he still lived in that decrepit old mansion of Danarius's. She was convinced he would never leave there, at least not until his old master's heart was crushed dead in his hands. She had brought it up before, only to shrink away and act like she hadn't said anything when his expression turned sad. It made her wonder if he would ever really be free.

But if that was how the conversation went for moving in with her, she didn't have a hope of convincing him to have children. It was true that a few times when she had been drunk, she went off on wild tangents to Fenris about having children. He just shook it off as her drunken ramblings, but Isabela knew there was more to it than that. It wasn't until she got home and Fenris left her alone for the night did the tears start to fall. Only when she was sober did she even think of the drawbacks to having a child. It meant she couldn't go off adventuring with the others, or spend her nights at the Hanged Man, or doing any of the things she currently did.

There was always a possibility of feigning an accident and forcing them together, but she was always alarmed at herself for even thinking that. (That was one thing magic was good for, preventing pregnancy in the first place.)

"Speaking of which."

Hawke looked up towards the front door of the bar, seeing the guard captain walking in, her red hair worn loose, but still with her signature braided leather headband. She saw the pair and regarded them with a nod before joining them at the table.

"Hawke has something she needs to talk to you about," Isabela said in one quick breath as she immediately left for the bar with a smile.

Aveline looked concerned. "What's going on, Hawke?"

She looked darkly at her for a second, cursing Isabela in her head, but then she broke down with a sigh. It was like all her denial was shattering before her when she opened her mouth to speak. "Oh, just… I want a damn baby."

Aveline laughed at her, but it quickly occurred to her that by Hawke's deathly stare that it wasn't something to laugh about. "Oh. You're serious."

Taking a deep breath, Hawke began to fiddle with her fingers in front of her.

"Have you talked to Fenris about this?"

"No," she groaned defeatedly, beginning to feel herself sobering up. "I don't know what's been wrong with me lately!"

The bartender came around and placed a pint in front of Aveline and Hawke waved to him saying she would get it. The redhead drank from it, giving the dilemma some thought before looking back at her friend.

"I mean, you're married. You've been married before that, did you or have you thought about children?" she asked earnestly. "Isabela just says I have 'baby fever', whatever that's supposed to mean."

Aveline smiled, just taking in the image for a moment. The Champion of Kirkwall half lying on the dirty bar table, in shambles over wanting to have babies. In all the years she had known her, she never actually knew just how old the eldest Hawke child was. She had to guess she may have been barely twenty at the time of their meeting, so this was fairly normal. "Well, I suppose when I was married to Wesley that we talked about it. Of course, I was probably younger than you at the time, but we were both so busy, not to mention away from each other."

"And with Donnic?"

"We've talked about it." She suddenly had a sad look about her that Hawke picked up on.

"Ahh, I see now." Hawke gave her a genuine smile. "Good luck, then."

"And good luck to you, too, Hawke. However things go for you." She took a larger gulp of her ale than she planned. As much as the beer in the Hanged Man was bad, she had acquired a taste for it over the years. So long as it didn't poison her. "Are you at least thinking of marriage?"

Hawke laughed. "I can't even get him to stay over longer than a couple nights. I don't know what it is, but he just loves that horrible old mansion. He's attached to it."

Aveline could do nothing but shrug.

"Not to mention he really has no official and legal claim to his life, he was a slave. Fenris isn't even the name he was born with." She was starting to feel her doubting thoughts coming back to her and she knew the alcohol was leaving her system. If they got married, he had no name for her to take, would he take hers? Not that she ever liked the idea of taking another's name; to others she was always known as Hawke, so why would she bother erasing that part of her? Maybe nobody had to take anybody's name. As the thought of marriage had never even occurred to her before, she felt her head rush like she was falling and put her fingers to her temples.

"I just want to know how to deal with the feeling of wanting a baby." Her eyes took on the look of a kicked puppy and looked to Aveline for an answer. "If we do, it won't be for a while."

"I don't know, Hawke. Maybe just think about all the fun you're having without a child? Or maybe the feeling will pass."

She nodded, considering it, but of course she had to place a hand over her stomach. She felt a bulge there and had to smile. "This is just beer."

Aveline laughed into her mug as she was taking a drink, nearly spitting it out. "Seriously, Hawke. Just know you can't get blackout drunk all the time when you have a child."

"Good point! That might have just killed my desire completely." Hawke sat back in her seat, smiling in her usual cocky way, thinking in the back of her mind just how willing she was to give up hangovers and embarrassing herself regularly for that hypothetical child.

The night wore on as the others joined back in on their conversations, Hawke taking it easy on beers for another hour before the door opened and Fenris walked in. When the table spotted him, Varric, Isabela and Aveline gave him the same collective look and he became apprehensive. Hawke just smiled, leaving them as she left silvers on the table, linking her arm through Fenris's and they left into the night.

Hawke was quiet next to Fenris as they walked through the quiet and foreboding streets of Lowtown. The night was still, and the pair was sure they were being watched. After a few more seconds, Hawke would be certain they wouldn't be suddenly met with assailants; it was incredibly rare these days to face an attacker in the streets. She and her friends had the kind of reputation that was clear to common street thugs, don't mess with them.

After a moment of no conversation, Fenris broke their silence. "Good to see you aren't falling over this time."

She playfully smacked him in the ribs, arm still laced around his. "Thought I'd save myself the headache."

"The amount you can put away is certainly impressive, Hawke." He said it with a smile and Hawke leaned into his shoulder, free of its usual spiked armour. His arm unhooked from her arm and he placed it around her waist, holding her close. The walk back to her house wasn't a long one, but they spent it silently, enjoying each other's company.

"Stay the night," Hawke said as they approached the front door of her house. He gladly followed her inside. The front room was illuminated by the fire as the Mabari hound was fast asleep in the middle of the carpet. His fur had been flecked with grey strands, mostly in his face, and Hawke was fairly certain he couldn't hear her as well as he used to.

She turned around to put her arms around Fenris's neck and kissed him, her breath likely tasting of ale, but he never complained. She just wished he would stay over more often, and by more often, she meant forever. Hawke always felt a wave of sadness if she ever rolled over in the night only to find the other side of her bed empty. The reminder of that feeling washed over her and her face fell, pulling away from Fenris. She focused on his eyes, trying to find something inside. There had to be something in there that wanted all the things she did. But even if there was, she feared the one threat to his freedom that still existed out there was holding him back.

His hand was on her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye as he kissed her again, his way of asking her, "what's wrong?" It was worth another shot, just to ask, and when her stomach pressed against his, the sudden wave of emotion hit her in a way it was hard to hold back tears. Her lips pursed together before she tried.

"I've been thinking." The worst kind of sentences always started off this way, but she smiled, trying to reassure him. "I love you. So much, and I know you've said no before, but…" She paused, already knowing the answer but still choosing her words carefully. "I want you to live with me."

Fenris grew nervous and Hawke could see just how desperately he wanted to say yes. In all the time she had known him, he was so very stubborn. She supposed he needed that resolve to have gotten as far as he did, and it was because of that she had been patient with him.

"I'm sorry," he said, so quietly, and her heart broke. But she understood. She always understood, she had to.

That night Hawke didn't sleep soundly as she usually did in his presence. For the most part she just laid in bed, lazily touching the strands of his hair, running them through her fingers. She watched him sleep, relishing the moments in which she could see him completely at peace. His breath was steady and even, and so slow that sometimes she caught herself worrying that he had stopped. But as she watched him, her mind clouded with thoughts of motherhood, she began to fantasize her life differently.

Her hand touched her stomach and she began to see visions of the two of them, and their child. She tried to visualize a son, a daughter, what would they look like? She saw both a son and daughter looking like Carver and Bethany did when they were small, with the dark Amell hair and possibly her eyes. But of course they would still look like their father, maybe have long pointed ears, skin darker than her own. Or maybe they would have eyes just as green and intense as their father's. Then she thought of the possibility of their child being a mage; it was very likely, and then her mind flashed to what that could mean. Could she as the Champion have her mage children excused from the Circle's grasp? And just how would Fenris take the possibility of his own offspring being mages? She almost had to smile at the thought. But he had become slightly more tolerant over the years. Just slightly.

There was no hope for sleep if she kept up this line of thinking. Carefully, Hawke slid out from under the covers, slipping her feet into a pair of fur-lined slippers and pulling on her robe. She took one more look at Fenris before stepping out of the room. Treading carefully, she took down the stairs to the library, producing a tiny glowing ball of arcane light in her hand to see. The book she wanted was sitting right on the table where she left it and she curled up with it in one of the arm chairs sitting in the corner. It was still one of the old Amell family record books, a thick piece of ribbon sandwiched between the pages she had left off on. Once again she began looking over the names that were present, losing herself in imagining their faces.

Eventually she would council herself for that night with thoughts of not even being nearly close to her "prime", as Mother had once called it, let alone grown past it. It would take time to progress with Fenris, it always had. She just knew what, or rather who, was standing in the way of him moving on with his life and finally breaking the chains. The only way that was going to happen was when Danarius's heart had ripped from his chest. At this point, Hawke was ready to do that herself.


	5. The Fight

Year 3

The Free Marches

On a Tuesday

It had been grating at her all day. The snipping banter staying about ten feet behind her at all times, a pair of irritated voices back and forth bickering about the same old subject all day long. Hawke felt a throbbing behind her right eye and she longed for a dark, and most importantly, silent room to curl up in. This wasn't the hangover kind of headache, this was a pain bestowed on her from listening to these two all day. All week, more like. For that long, she was able to ignore it, but now she was at her breaking point where she couldn't block it out anymore. It ceased to be background noise equivalent to the wind blowing or the distant sound of waves crashing against cliffs.

"If you two are going to fight, do it where I'm out of earshot," she had said about six days ago, knowing she was in for a long week. At that point she had been debating the entire time if it was even worth it to have both Anders and Fenris with her, and at that point she was short on other friends to travel with her for such a lengthly period. Fenris had no real responsibilities, and he was always up for doing anything. Aveline was apologetic, wishing she could get away with Hawke for a week's adventure, but there was no way she could leave the guard without a captain for that long. Hawke agreed. Then there was Merrill, who Hawke could really tell didn't want to go anywhere with Fenris, but made up some wild excuse on the spot as to why she couldn't. Hawke just let her be. What was surprising was Varric, whom had never let her down before, saying he was tied up in business for the next while. Whatever that meant. Isabela was in the bar, rolling her eyes at him and offering her help if Varric was, "too chicken shit," to go along. She didn't mind being around the handsome, broody elf for so long anyway.

So it came as a massive surprise when Anders was able to lend a hand. He had noticed a lull in all activity at his clinic, believing all his years working had finally improved the overall health of the residents in Darktown. He could afford to leave for even a week's time to go spelunking in caves. Besides, he really did owe her. Hawke couldn't say no to such a generous offer, even though she had hoped he would refuse. Anders insisted, even knowing Fenris was among them, which should have tipped her off from the start that he intended to spend his time arguing, but the four were soon off outside Kirkwall.

And now they were finally heading home, and the venture was barely worth it. It was certainly worth the time spent, but no amount of heavy coin weighing down their belts was worth the racket. Night had fallen, and though Hawke was hoping they'd be home by the evening, the hills leading toward the city of Kirkwall seemed more treacherous than she remembered. They were forced to set up shelter on the Wounded Coast, Hawke and Isabela spending their time finding wood to burn for a fire. After a brief supper of rabbit, the group sat around the fire in complete silence. Isabela and Hawke were splitting the last of the whiskey they had brought along with no intention of sharing with their tormenters. Hawke had barely said a word the entire day, but her face was weary, which she hoped signalled she didn't want to hear any more bickering for the rest of the night.

Anders was watching her more closely than Fenris. Hawke slugged the whiskey back quickly, blinking watery eyes as it burned her throat. She just wanted to think back to her home, her bed, the absence of petty squabbling from the two men she was currently reluctant to call her friends. But as she stared into the flames, her mind began to wander towards what they had been saying the past few days. She did have to admit, if she were to take a side in the argument, she was behind Anders, although she would never say it. She wasn't about to defend some of Fenris's usual comments about mages and how they were all apparently too weak to deserve basic freedoms. That she could disagree with, but if he wanted to think that way, she didn't know his life experiences. But as the days went on, each snippy comment got harsher and harsher, and they were starting to feel personal.

It wasn't like Anders wasn't pissing her off either. At least she was willing to accept that the situation in Tevinter seemed deplorable as Fenris described it, but Anders wanted to brush it off as, "one bad experience". When she heard that during their trek through the woods near Sundermount, she actually shot a glare back at him. That was the last time she acknowledged either of them. Since then the argument was nothing but, "mages are shit," versus, "mages are not shit".

Isabela was half asleep on Hawke's shoulder, passing out from the alcohol and she was waiting for the snores. Hawke just enjoyed the quiet, the soothing sound of the roaring and crackling fire. The two men _had_ to be enjoying it over their fighting as well, but soon she would be corrected.

"We should be in Kirkwall by tomorrow afternoon, shouldn't we?" Anders asked and Hawke looked up, grateful for the benign question.

"Yes," she answered flatly.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, until he cracked an awkward smile, clearly trying to get a conversation out of her. "Hopefully Darktown hasn't fallen apart this week."

Fenris just gave him a sharp laugh. _Oh, Maker, here we go._ "Wouldn't be surprised to see it improved, no apostates running around."

Hawke just closed her eyes when Anders went to retort. "I _heal_ people, Fenris. Save their lives, treat the sick-"

"How long until you _slip up_ with that demon of yours and kill someone you intended to help?"

"And why would I do that? Oh, mages can't control themselves, you've been saying it all bloody week, you're still here in the company of two of us."

_Don't fucking get me involved,_ Hawke seethed in her head, resting her head against Isabela's to appear asleep. She just hoped their collective noise would somehow knock her into a coma.

"I trust Hawke. You, not so much."

"Why Hawke, and only Hawke, when not a single mage can resist temptation from demons?"

"She's not possessed, for one."

"Neither are most mages!"

Hawke's eyes opened, staring at both of them, seeing they had now stood up, both of them trying their best to appear physically bigger than they actually were, voices raising. If she weren't so annoyed, she would find the display hilarious, seeing two men chesting out at each other over an argument so stupid. She nudged Isabela awake, she couldn't miss this. They kept arguing, and Hawke felt the other woman just slightly shake with laughter. At least she could still find humour in their situation, but Hawke wasn't having any of it.

"Hey," she said, cutting through their argument and allowing silence to fall around them. "If you two could finish up, some of us would like to sleep." She made no effort to stand up, looking back at the fire, and it was like they had ignored her. That sparked something inside her.

"So, really what you're saying is that Hawke should be locked up in that Circle."

"Free mages is just asking for the return of the old Imperium."

"So, yes, then."

Were they trying to get her involved? To get her riled up and step in to settle their argument once and for all? First, they ignored her asking them to stop, now they were getting her involved. And, to add the cherry on top, Fenris was essentially saying she should have been in the Circle. Isabela had been quiet the whole time, probably drunker than she realized, but Hawke had had enough. If Anders was trying to get people on his side, Fenris was not the person to ask. Finally she stood up, grabbing their attention.

"Will you two just shut up," she began, her voice full of all the built up stress over the past week. "Anders, he's never going to agree with you, Fenris, most mages aren't horrible, and am I not a shining example that?" It seemed to get through to them, but she had been so wrong about that so many times before. She looked between them, hoping for their grumbled agreements, but they never came.

"You do know she's helping me, right?" Anders said, his attention directed at Fenris once again. "You should know Hawke's best judgement is with the free mages."

Hawke rolled her eyes. She was hoping to be able to tell Fenris that fact herself some time, and she supposed she should feel angry that Anders had spilled the secret, but mostly she just felt more exasperated that she was now getting involved. She could tell by the look on Fenris's face that he wasn't going to let it go.

"Is that right? You'd let apostates go, endangering the masses with god knows what blood magic?" he snarled, and it surprised her, but not as much as the rage that was bubbling inside her.

"_What_ blood magic?!" Anders snapped at him. "I've not seen one single blood mage pass through Darktown in all my time being here, and you're flinging wild accusations around! That is a serious accusation to make."

"And just how can you tell?"

"I don't care!" Hawke all but screamed at the two of them. "I don't give a flying nug shit about mages and abominations so long as I have you two telling me all about them until I'm buried in my fucking grave!"

They were finished with looking at her confusedly. Now she was involved in the argument. "And that will be much sooner if you go on carrying on with this abomination the way you do," Fenris growled.

She shifted her weight, sticking one hip out and tilting her head to the side all in a jerking motion. "Could you at least _try_ to be open-minded to what I do and trust my judgement, just a little but, like this much?" She held her finger and thumb out, the two nearly touching. "This isn't Tevinter, this hasn't _been_ Tevinter for almost a thousand years."

Something lit up in Anders' eyes, but Hawke caught it before she would ever let him think she was picking sides. "And would you stop saying horrible things to him _as fucking if_ mage Circles and slavery in Tevinter are the same bloody thing?"

"Horrible things?" Anders challenged and Hawke was already walking towards him, eyes screaming murder as she got right in his face.

"I will slap you," she snarled. "I will fucking slap you if you dare say anything about slaves like you know anything about slavery." Her eyes were narrowed, and Anders looked genuinely surprised for a second, before she felt that familiar twinge of Justice's presence. She stepped back as his eyelids flashed ice blue, but he balked, squeezing them shut before he lost control.

Fenris hadn't moved, but he was still glaring at Hawke, and she was ready for him to say something. He just scoffed, and Hawke nearly felt her head explode.

"Alright, can we stop!" Isabela stepped forward, pulling Hawke back by the arm away from Anders. "This fighting is doing nothing for us!"

It was as if Isabela hadn't even been there, because right away, Anders, still just Anders, had shot back at Hawke. What happened next was an unintelligible flurry of words between all four of them. In the chaos of their voices, one constant existed; with each new insult, accusation, or retort, each voice grew louder than the last, amounting to a screaming match between the four. Hand gestures became more violent, fingers were pointed, the most blasphemous of expletives were shouted. Hawke was a boiling pit of rage, spitting while she screeched, hands flaring up with involuntary magical energy. Soon enough, no verdict was reached, and their volume gradually dropped only due to the fact that they had all screamed themselves hoarse.

"Fucking fight me, then!" Hawke wheezed as loud as she now could, and the voices stopped.

"Fight you?" Fenris asked, but she wasn't just addressing him.

"Hawke, are you-?" Anders began, but he was cut off.

"Yeah, let's go bitches, me and you. Gloves are off." She glared directly at Anders. "No magic, no… swords."

There was a pause, everyone lost for words, before Hawke clumsily charged forward, slamming into Anders' chest, taking him down to the sandy ground below him. The force of which she basically fell into him was going to leave a bruise on her arm later, but she was overtop of him, fists clenched, booze on her breath, her wrists restrained by his hands. Anders look utterly shocked as he gripped her wrists, fighting desperately to keep her fists from his face. Suddenly she was lifted up by two pairs of arms, Anders let go of her and she was on her feet again, Isabela and Fenris holding her back.

"_Fasta vass, _you drunken-"

"Call me a drunk, would you?!" Hawke snapped at Fenris while fighting against his and Isabela's hold but they were far too strong. "Please, we all know you spend your time in that shitty mansion getting fucked up on that fancy Tevinter wine! There's a whole cellar of it, I know it!" She was jerking her elbow back, trying to land a hit on Fenris, but he held her too firmly.

He was beyond a response now, baffled by her mad display, but Hawke wasn't finished. He let go of her as she turned towards Anders, her eyes blazing. "And you. Don't even get me started-"

"Hawke, I-!" he began, holding up his hands, his defences on high.

"Say one more thing, say one more thing!" she challenged.

"And I'm sure he won't_,"_ Isabela said firmly, heaving her friend away from the others. Hawke finally shook her off before turning away with whatever was left of her pride, walking towards her tent without another word.

—

Isabela turned toward the others once Hawke had retreated back to her tent. "Well that seemed _personal_,_" _she mumbled, giving a sideways glance to the two men. "But you see what you do to her?"

Fenris had stood up, brushing himself off, still clearly in shock over what had just happened. He and Anders exchanged glances before looking away like children being scolded.

"That would have been me, and that would have been less pretty," she said, her voice becoming serious for only a second. Right after, directed at Fenris, her gaze became sultry again. "And it wouldn't have been fighting I wanted pinning you down. But seriously, you two need to stop provoking each other." She turned away, heading towards where she and Hawke had set up their individual tents. "Had you been on my ship, would've capsized you two long ago."

Isabela bent down only to take the empty bottle of whiskey from beside the fire and found her tent. She could already hear the shitfaced Hawke in her own tent snoring softly. She smiled, seeing Fenris and Anders going their separate ways to their own tents.

The next day, there wasn't a single word uttered between any of them before returning to Kirkwall.


	6. The Tears

Sorry for the delay. It was pretty stupid, this story has been done for a while, but I got caught up writing another. So to make up for it, I'm posting the rest of it all at once.

* * *

Year 9

Somewhere in Orlais

On a Wednesday

The inevitable had been creeping up on them slowly now, and finally it was here. The packed bags in the corner of the room of the inn spelled the end. Only a temporary end, she reminded herself over and over. There was a letter on the desk that detailed exactly why the end had to happen. They knew it had been coming, and they constantly talked over and over how it wouldn't be forever, how they would meet each other again soon, very soon, but in the back of her mind, she knew better than to be so hopeful.

Hawke's eyes opened almost immediately with the sunrise. There was no fluttering of her heavy eyelids, just open, like she had never been asleep at all. In fact, it didn't feel like she had. That night, she had closed her eyes, and it was like she had blinked, only to see the pale blue daylight shining through the dusty window. She felt cheated, angry that her mind had played such a foul trick on her when all she wanted was to elongate the time she spent in that bed. Fenris's arms were still wrapped around her tightly, trying to protect her from being ripped away from him like she would be that day. His face was nuzzled into her chest, ear pressed just above her heartbeat. He slept completely silently, so silently that she sometimes had to make sure he was still breathing. It was only his warmth that eased her mind when he slept next to her. She had noticed in the past year that he preferred to fall asleep like this, listening to her steady heartbeat lull him into a deep slumber. He said it was the safest he ever felt.

Whatever notion Hawke had of prolonging her time in bed was broken when he began to rouse next to her. The sudden increase in her heart rate must have queued him to wake, and she thought bitterly at just how sensitive his ears were. All she felt was his head move, but he didn't say a word, or make another move. He knew just what waking up and moving now would mean. It would just bring them closer to the point where they separated. His pack and blade laid in one corner of the room, and her staff in the other. Two different paths even in their bedroom. He, too, just wanted to stay as long as he could. She wished they could stay forever.

But Varric said he had needed her. Not just him, but apparently the fate of Thedas. The Inquisition, as it was now called, always whispered on the lips of everyone in Orlais and Ferelden these days. So far, Varric had kept her away from its influence, knowing he had been lying to whoever asked about her whereabouts. As a matter of fact, she had been on contact with him the entire time, sending letters by raven, but only sparingly. But it was like that with all her friends. Stashed into her bag was a collection of every single letter sent from Varric, Aveline, Merrill, even Isabela. Hearing from the pirate was rare, but she still did hear from her, and every time she received a letter from her, she was almost moved to tears. It was usually only in her occasional letters did she really think back to her years in Kirkwall, drinking her evenings away and just how much fun she had had minding her own business. How she loathed that place for throwing her into the fire far too many times when all she wanted to do was live her life. But she still missed it. It was home.

Home was also with Fenris, who had followed her unquestioningly since escaping Kirkwall. In a way she felt bad, but their time had not been wasted in the slightest. Since leaving the city, Fenris had picked up quite easily on the trails of slavers operating in Southern Thedas. Their travels lead them from The Marches back to Ferelden, through Nevarra and finally ending up in Northern Orlais. They had settled down considerably in the past few months since arriving in the country. They had even stayed in the current inn for nearly two weeks.

When they would finally get out of bed, Hawke would be headed south, and Fenris north. Hawke was headed towards Skyhold, the headquarters of the Inquisition, and Fenris going forth to kill more slavers. It was a hobby. In truth, Hawke warned him of the mage alliance that had taken place months ago when the Inquisition still worked out of Haven in Orlais. He offered her a smile at that. He had become so much better about the whole "mage thing" she called it, but she still considered his feelings about it. (As well as the feelings of the mages there. She really didn't need him mouthing off, embarrassing her.)

But there was the truth of the matter weighing heavily on her about her long anticipated involvement with the Inquisition. She truly wondered what was going to be required of her once she got there. She knew she was going to help them find an old friend of hers, Stroud, the Grey Warden. According to Varric, the Wardens all over the continent had been acting strangely, and although she didn't keep in close contact with any, she knew Stroud could still be trusted. She had sent a letter his way only yesterday. Beyond getting him in contact with the rest of the Inquisition, she wasn't sure exactly what she would be doing. Would she be fighting on the front lines against Corypheus, since she had already fought him before? It was the million possibilities going through her head that she was questioning whether or not she would be getting out of it alive.

She had told Fenris that she would most likely be serving as an advisor to the young Trevelyan Inquisitor. She said they wouldn't be able to kill many slavers in that position, giving him a reason to go on without her. The real reason was more than that. She had noticed it ever since they left Kirkwall, and in hindsight, even before then, and that was just how willing he was to die for her. Ever since she received word from Varric, she couldn't help but harbour a feeling of dread towards the entire situation. Somehow she knew things were going to turn out much worse than she anticipated. She didn't want to anticipate death, not wanting to be fatalistic, but the idea still hung in the back of her mind. It had been clear just how easy it was for Fenris to throw himself in front of danger for her, how he would always intercept an attacking slaver coming straight for her, leaving himself completely vulnerable. She didn't want him doing that with some of the horrific demons coming through the rifts that dotted the landscape, because there would be no end to them until Corypheus was completely dead.

With the sunrise came the shine of crystalline green. The major tear in the Veil that hung over the continent was visible almost everywhere, and its irritating light could be seen all the time. In a way, it was beautiful to look at, but eventually, it got pretty old, especially with the threat of demons everywhere all the time. She and Fenris had been exceptionally lucky in all their treks across the countryside to have never come across one of the rifts. The very prospect seemed terrifying.

"Morning," Fenris said, his voice gravely and filled with enough sadness to break her heart on the spot. She was hoping for that to come later.

"Morning," Hawke returned meekly, barely making a sound at all. Fenris shifted beside her, craning his neck to kiss her tenderly. They didn't have to say a word to each other to know that they wanted to stay the way they were for as long as possible. But they simply couldn't.

"The sun is up." They couldn't have said they wanted to split in the mid afternoon, no, they just had to leave each other that morning. To cover more ground, or whatever.

"I know," Hawke said, bending her knee to rub her leg against his. It suddenly occurred to her that she was still buck naked from the night before, the source of warmth being the wool blanket covering them. Even more reason to not leave their bed. But she supposed there was no choice.

Eventually they did get up, pulling on clothing and armour for their journeys ahead of them. They went to the tavern for a very brief breakfast before leaving the secluded building and wandering out along the tread path before them. It was a nice morning not filled with rain and snow like it often was. The sun was shining strong by mid morning, illuminating the spring greens that were blooming around them. Hawke's heart was still heavy as they walked slowly down the trail, avoiding eye contact, but remaining hand in hand. Around Fenris's wrist was a red ribbon tied tightly. Hawke had done the same, as a reminder to each other that they would never forget.

They came to a crossroads, and it was exactly where they knew they would finally have to separate. They stopped, standing still for a moment. Then they let go of each other's hands. Hawke faced him, giving a half smile but the tears were already starting to well up in her eyes. Fenris was the same. She threw her arms around him, and he held her back just as tightly. They pulled apart only to share one last kiss.

"I love you," Fenris mumbled, his face wet with tears.

"I love you, too," Hawke sniffled, and she couldn't fight the smile spreading across her face. "Kill those slaver bastards dead."

He shared her grin. "Kill those demon bastards dead."

And so she was alone, but knowing exactly where she was going. She had shed a few more tears once Fenris had gone out of sight in the opposite direction. Soon enough, Hawke managed to harden herself by thinking on the task ahead of her, and tried to look on the bright side. She was going to see Varric again. It wasn't until she focused on that did she realize just how much she missed her trusty dwarf. She tried to picture herself again sitting down and having drinks with Varric until the wee hours of the morning, each story they told each other growing more wild than the next.

For a while she made herself forget, much to her contentment. But it was really only for a little while until another worry began to resurface into her conscious thoughts. When she set up camp off the beaten path that night, after setting up her magic barriers for protection, it began nagging her. There was one other thing, something she had never told to Fenris just in case she was wrong, but she remembered it later in the evening. She had missed her monthlies by officially two weeks now. If she bled late by one or two days, it was never much cause for alarm, but this was missing it by a long time. Two weeks wasn't enough to go off of, but her overly cautious mind had been mulling it over for a long time.

With that fact came the guilt that she had not told Fenris at all. She couldn't say for sure what was happening to her, not for at least another few weeks of a missed cycle. But she was lucky it was right around now, just as they were leaving each other on different paths. With the surmounting dread that she was possibly going to die by siding with the Inquisition, she couldn't tell him in case she did. If she died, she didn't want him to have to mourn for two of them. It was better this way.

As she laid in her tent alone for the first time in a long time, her hand rested over her stomach and her, still at this point, entirely hypothetical child. She remembered wanting this back when days were much simpler in Kirkwall, but here out in the woods with her uncertain future, it was not the ideal situation. She tried to take her mind off of death, instead thinking about her position as an advisor to the Inquisitor like she told Fenris she was going to be. She could spend a few months standing around the castle, sharing her vast insights into Corypheus. They had killed him once before, how hard would it be to do a second time? She almost laughed at the thought. Of course it was more difficult than that.

And who knew, exactly? Maybe once she saw how things were, she wouldn't have to spend much time at Skyhold, and eventually her help wouldn't be needed any longer, and then she could find Fenris once again. Maybe then they could settle down for once and think about a less dangerous future. For a while now she had made her purpose freeing the few slaves she and Fenris could, but perhaps there were better ways to achieve that that didn't involve the removal of so many internal organs. She wondered just how much political power her name might carry in Thedas, but with the Inquisition…

It gave her something to think about, and she turned over in her bedroll to lie on her side, brows knitted together with worry. Already she missed the presence of another beside her when she shivered. She was in way over her head.


	7. The Crush

Year 4

Hightown

On a Thursday

When Hawke walked, she did so with such a swagger that Isabela had to wonder where she got it from. It was a saunter that made her hips shift up and down with each step and her head held high. This was not the walk of a simple peasant girl in Ferelden, this was reminiscent of Isabela's own walk, the walk of a pirate captain used to enticing people with her every move. Isabela spent an awful lot of time behind the mage on missions staring at her arse, not in any sort of lecherous way, but just wondering how and why she moved the way she did. There were a million questions she could ask, but she was respectful enough not to get into those sorts of conversations. She saw the way Hawke treated the men at the Hanged Man who dared to lay a hand on her.

The Hightown market was a place where Isabela had previously not even been able to dream of shopping in, but ever since the venture into the Deep Roads, Hawke could afford to toss coin around on such things. While following her on her adventures, Isabela could do the same with some of the money she had pilfered off of the bodies that lay strewn about in their wake. Today, Hawke had promised her that she would accompany her to the market and pick out a nice new blade from Korval's. This, and she was feeling nice enough to buy Hawke a nice trinket as a thank you.

As they walked through the marketplace, the pirate could tell Hawke was on edge. Her walk was more rigid, her steps still landing criss-crossed to give her hips that delicious sway, but she was tense. She wondered exactly what was wrong with her, but never brought it up, and once they were standing in from of Korval's blades, the thought slipped her mind entirely.

The pair stood in front of the stand, and Korval himself, looking between the two of the awkwardly. He had asked them a few questions but they mostly ignored him, enamoured with the blades on display behind him. Isabela obviously had a better eye for what she wanted, but Hawke, too, was admiring the bejewelled hilts and intricate engravings. Isabela could see the wall of daggers and assess each one, knowing immediately which ones she knew she could realistically use. A good blade, to her, was one that had a lighter blade, and sturdier at the hilt. And here it meant the more jewels on them, the better. Isabella mused to herself when she glanced sideways to see Hawke's eyes fixed on the same blade she had been looking at.

"That one's sexy," Isabela practically purred and pointed to it. Although she had been talking to Hawke, Korval took this as a queue to fetch it from its display.

"It's a nice one," he said, relieved to have gotten their attention finally. He presented the blade to Isabela who took it with her right hand, feeling its weight in her palm and then gripped it tighter. The blade was a decent weight, heavier than she was used to, but the craftsmanship on it was wonderful. Having lighter steel meant she was just accustomed to less expensive blades, but as she stepped back to take a few practice swings with it, she was just about in love. She gave it a try with her other hand, finding it cut through the air just as well.

"Oooh, Hawke, I don't even need to see anything else. I think I'm in love."

"Quite a statement from you," Hawke commented with a smile. "Are you sure about it?"

"How much is this one?" Isabela asked Korval, locking her gaze to his, sticking one hip out and giving her best smirk.

"Three sovereigns," Korval said with confidence. Isabela wasn't going to swindle him down with flirtation, but it wasn't necessary. It was perfectly reasonable for the work of art. She opened her coin purse and pulled out three gold pieces, handing them over to the shopkeeper without a flinch at the cost. She had truly earned this. Korval dug behind some of the crates behind his stand and offered her a fine leather holster.

"Hawke, let me take you somewhere," Isabela said as she took the holster, putting her new blade inside of it. They walked away from the weaponry stands, and as they did, Isabela was reminded at how Hawke seemed to have something on her mind. She didn't have to say anything until Hawke did, however.

"Can we maybe just talk instead?"

She was surprised. That wasn't what she was expecting at all.

"Somewhere private?"

A sly smile crossed her face. She definitely wasn't expecting that at all. "Alright. Where did you have in mind?"

"My house isn't far from here." Hawke wasn't returning her flirting, but seemed rather serious instead. Still, Isabela continued.

"Oh, sounds serious."

"It's not _that_," Hawke laughed, as she expected and began to lead the way to her estate.

Hawke wasn't trying to lead Isabela on, but she had to admit she was curious. It still wasn't what she was after when she lead her back to her home, finding it empty inside save for Sandal offering her a sweet smile when she walked in. A fire was burning in the front room and she offered a seat to Isabela in front of it.

"There's something I need to ask you," Hawke began, her brow creased with worry. She stared back at her, golden eyes complimented by the glowing flames. There was a long paused between them as she tried to think of what to say. "I need some advice."

"Advice from me? This should be good." Isabela leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.

"Yes, some advice," Hawke said, emphasizing the last word. She searched for words for only a moment, and just decided to spit it out. Isabela had no reason to be offended by directness. "Well, there's someone I'd like to get the attention of. I just need to know how to get there."

The pirate laughed. "You're gorgeous, Hawke, I'm sure whoever it is will give you their attention if you so much as bat your eyelashes at them."

She shook her head, bringing one hand up to her chin and pinched it with her thumb and forefinger. "That's the thing, I'm pretty sure that's not the case."

"So cut your tops low and giggle at all his jokes, that should make it pretty clear. Or is this someone more _complicated_ than that?" Isabela's cold stare was enough to make Hawke realize she knew exactly who she was talking about. Slumping in her seat when the woman began to laugh, she couldn't help but crack a smile herself.

"Oh, so you're interested in old Broody, huh?" She crossed one leg over the other. "Well, I can say perhaps you're right coming to me for advice? So what is it, do you just want to hop on him for a night to alleviate some of that intensity – because the rest of us could really appreciate that – or what, exactly?"

Hawke denied it by raising an eyebrow. "Not so much. I was thinking, hoping, for something a little more long term."

She glared at her, which was unexpected. "Really now, Hawke, that is not my area of expertise."

"Well," Hawke began, but then rolled her eyes. "Fine, plans of mine aside, I just want to know how to…" She made a noncommittal gesture, hoping it would become clear.

"Just how to get him into bed, then?"

"Sure." It was about time she gave up, and any advice Isabela could give her was valuable anyway.

"Alright. Am I safe to assume you haven't even begun to flirt with him?"

Hawke shook her head, remembering a couple of times they had spoken. "No! Actually, I have."

"And how did that go?"

She smilled, recalling one single time she had experienced her sly remarks reciprocated. "You're a beautiful woman, Hawke," she said, dropping her voice as deep as it would go, laying on the huskiness in her best impression of the elf.

Isablea cracked up. "Well, a good start, I suppose he's not entirely uninterested. Not like when _I_ flirt with him, anyway. I suppose he respects you or whatever." She waved a hand, finding the very idea distasteful. "Anyway, the only advice I can give you now is if he's into you so far, just keep going. Probably best to bed him first before moving on with whatever feelings you might have. Gets him hooked on you."

"Really?"

With a heavy sigh, Isabela stood up and began to pace around the room. "You've had relations with men before, haven't you, Hawke?"

Her eyes followed her as she walked back and forth. "Yes, but that was in Lothering where anybody who I even looked at was into it. Not much to do in a farm town, you took what you could get."

Another sharp laugh. "Now that I can get behind." She stopped facing her friend and her irritated look grew softer, warmer. "I've seen you Hawke. You swagger your hips around town when you walk, you've got a great ass to show off and you favour the more form-fitting cut of robes. I'm just guessing you know your way around the bedroom. Or a haystack. You know how to make it good for you, unlike most men out there. Best of all, you've never really had to work to get someone you wanted."

"Yes, exactly." The statement would be self-deprecating if she said it, but she couldn't deny it. "He's just so…"

"_Brooding?_" Isabela flopped back down into the chair, looking dreamily up to the ceiling. "Why is that so hot? I am far from the only one who thinks this way."

"I don't know," Hawke mused, adding a devilish chuckle afterwards. "Ugh, even a casual night that to a normal person would mean nothing would be _letting someone too close_ to him."

Isabela scrunched her mouth up to one side, considering the point. "No. I don't think so. He'll fuck you, as long as he feels safe around you. Not going to pull demons out your ass like he seems to think all mages do."

Fenris didn't think that, at least not about her. "So what do I _do_, then?"

"Keep flirting with him," she started off with a sigh. "Can't go wrong there. Wouldn't hurt for you to wear your tighter robes, make sure he'd right behind you when you bend over."

Hawke relaxed in her seat, looking to the fire, considering the advice. Isabela continued.

"At some point you should take him back here, for an evening, and don't be too drunk. A little drunk is good, but not very. Gives 'em whiskey dick." Isabela said that like Hawke should know what it meant, but she could only guess. "Just make it clear you _want_ his dick, men can be so oblivious."

A blush rose to Hawke's face, but luckily Isabela didn't notice it. Still, she understood, and gave a slow nod in understanding.

"I don't think you could just go out to his place right now and have the evening end up in carnal bliss, but work on it." Isabela had her new blade sitting her her lap, one hand on the leather holster as if she were holding it for comfort. She was playing with the loop on it meant to hook on to a belt, but Hawke knew she preferred to keep them on her back. "Until then, I can tell you, or even show you, some moves that might be good for that time."

Hawke smiled, narrowing her eyes in a wicked glance. "No thanks, I've got some of my own."

"Oh? Maybe you should show me, then."

"More suited for a haystack, I'm afraid."

The pair both erupted in unintentionally loud laughter filling the entire front room. Isabela wiped at her eye after a moment, but she stood up from her chair once again. "Right. Well, I need to go do some things. Tonight, Hanged Man?"

"Hanged Man," Hawke answered watching Isabela turn for the door, giving the dog a farewell pat on the head as she walked away. She walked to front door, giving a quick glance to the doorframe which she had once considered defacing similar to the way she had done so to the banister. She decided against it and opened the door outside, knowing just what small gift she was going to get for her friend.


	8. The Reunion

Year 9

Skyhold

On a Sunday

The sun was shining brightly, warming the stones of the bridge leading to the massive fortress. The stretch seemed endless, but he was finally there. The evening before when he could see the castle in the distance, he had breathed a massive sigh of relief. For nearly a month he had been travelling as fast as he could across the entire continent; he had even bought a horse in Nevarra to quicken his journey, selling it off to a stable in Orlais when he finally admitted to himself that he wasn't very good at riding it. For all the long days and nights of travel, now with the fortress in sight, it seemed he had reached the longest day of all. Hawke was so close, and yet so far from him at the same time. He was wondering if the travel had been making him at all delirious in his exhaustion, but there was one thing that was still clear as a bell in his mind: he needed to see Hawke.

About a month ago, he had received a letter. He had been alone, secluded in a thick forest where a certain band of slavers had thought they were hidden, and apparently, so did he. When he awoke at dawn, he heard the sound of a raven alarmingly close by. He got up with a panic, spotting the bird on a low branch with a small scroll tied to its feet. He could only assume it was for him then. He took the note, immediately recognizing Hawke's handwriting. The note was short, but he still felt the sense of urgency in each word.

_Dear Fenris,_

_I am still where I went earlier this year, and I do not think I will be leaving for a while. I am fine, but I need you here. Please come as quick as you can, I promise we can kill droves of slavers once this is all over._

_Love,_

_Marianne H._

The way she had signed the letter made him wonder just how much weight her name was carrying these days. Actually, the way she had written the entire thing made him wonder just how afraid she was of people finding her. It only added to his worry when he immediately packed up his things and headed the only direction he knew to go: south. From there, it was the same thing each day, just moving as quick as he could, cursing the world for not having some form of faster transportation. It killed him to know she needed him and it would take him weeks to get to her. On his way he made a billion different scenarios in his head, each one more terrible than the last. But he had to stop himself sometimes. For one, she was obviously still alive. Second, she seemed to be settled in comfortably with the Inquisition enough to mention she was going to be there for a while.

In his way south, he just happened to chance upon a massive group of Grey Wardens heading North to Weisshaupt. They looked grim, and he managed to catch their attention. He asked them questions as they rode, asking everything he could, likely annoying many of them. From what he could get from them, he learned the Wardens were now exiled from Southern Thedas by the Inquisition, which was not what he was expecting at all. There had been a massive fight at Adamant Fortress and some truly frightening events had unfolded there. There was talk that Veil had torn open there by the Inquisitor and some people had physically entered the Fade. He didn't believe it. One of the Wardens, seemingly more level-headed, told him of the Champion of Kirkwall being on the front lines at the battle, and from what he knew, she had come out of it unscathed. It gave him some relief, lifting his fears that she had been deathly injured or sick.

What he couldn't get out of any of the Wardens was exactly why they had been exiled. At that point, he gave up on caring and decided he would find out soon enough.

He was finally at the massive gates, the guards standing by looking frightened at him. He supposed he must have looked quite haggard from his journey. Fenris only ushered a look between both of them before either of them spoke.

"State your business!" one of the guards shouted, trying to sound authoritative behind the waver in his voice.

Fenris opened a pouch on his belt to take out the folded note sent to him a month ago. "I am here to see The Champion," he spoke with confidence. His voice was hoarse.

"Aye," said the guard simply, signalling for the gate to be raised. There was a flurry of motion behind the gate, and someone running into the courtyard. As it opened up just past his height, one of the guards gestured him to enter. The bridge ended when he moved forward as he now stood on the soft ground of the courtyard. One of the guards cam around from the gate, standing in front of him holding up his hand for him to stop.

"Hold here, you'll be escorted in by someone from the Inquisition."

Fenris frowned, but he stayed put. He was more than anxious to get to Hawke now, and he didn't know why he was being barred. It wasn't like he knew where to find Hawke, but he felt useless just standing there. He gave his cursory glance around him, leering at everyone standing around him. Eruptions of whispers rippled through the modest crowds standing in the courtyard. He wondered if they knew who he was. It was possible, and his appearance was definitely notable if they had ever read it in a book. Varric's book, no doubt.

Soon enough, he began to assess his surroundings to take his mind off of Hawke. The majority of people walking around the courtyard appeared to be nurses and healers tending to a camp sitting near the large stone staircase that lead to the castle. He watched as injured soldiers laid on stretchers near the camp, their wounds being bandaged. Further to his left, he could see a wooden building sitting in the yard which he could only guess was a pub.

Above him, the fortress stood proudly, its towers stretching to meet the sky. Seeing it from a distance, it looked massive, but now he felt absolutely tiny standing right next to it. The building was magnificent, and he wondered just how the organization had come across such a place. He found himself looking up in awe at the towers and pillars when he suddenly heard a familiar voice.

"Fenris!"

He looked towards the sound, seeing someone descending the stairs leading to the main hall of the castle. His face lit up when he saw Varric jogging down the steps, a big grin on his face. At that smile, he felt a large weight being lifted off his shoulders; he was half expecting him to look grim, which meant bad news. When Varric reached the courtyard, Fenris took a few steps forward, unable to stop his own smile from spreading. Varric walked up to him with his arms wide open like he was presenting the place.

"Well? What do you think?"

"It's…" Fenris searched for a word, but for all his staring and marvelling at the castle, he was lost. "Big."

Varric laughed a big laugh as the excitement at seeing his old friend lit up his eyes. "Alright, I know you're anxious to see Hawke, so, uh.."

Fenris began to walk with Varric, trying to take in all that he was seeing. He looked over to the pub he had seen earlier and stopped walking. "So I'll just assume she's in there," he said nodding towards the building. Varric just laughed again.

"Afraid not. Things haven't really been like before since she's been here." Varric's tone suddenly turned sombre as they continued walking. Fenris's panic started to return to him and his hands started to clench into fists. Varric was suddenly fidgeting.

The main hall was incredible, lavishly decorated with banners and symbols of Ostwick and the Free Marches. Fenris was again impressed by the display, but he wondered if that was just because he hadn't been anywhere quite comparable for years. Orlesian nobles lined the sides of the hall, talking amongst themselves, all certainly about him. He didn't glance at them for too long, their masks giving him chills. Varric lead him past them down the long carpet leading to a rather intimidating looking throne sitting at the head of the room. He felt very small just walking in there.

Eventually Varric hung a left, opening a door that lead down a dimly lit hallway. Judging by the amount of doors in the hall, he could only assume these were the quarters for the Inquisition. Varric suddenly stopped in front of one door in the middle of the hall. He looked at him, giving a sad smile.

"We'll have to have a proper reunion later, and the Inquisitor would like to meet you. I think she's in her war room right now bickering with the others. I stay far away from that thing."

Fenris nodded, and then blurted, "What's she like?" He didn't know why he was suddenly stalling.

Varric's shoulders shook with laughter. "Young Trevelyan is a strange one, I'll admit that." His face fell again, looking at the door. "I won't lie, Fenris."

His face felt like it had been drained of all colour. All the horrible scenarios he had imagined were coming back to him now. "What's wrong, Varric?"

"Okay. Look, when you see her, you're going to be surprised."

He raised an eyebrow and his heart began beating quickly. "Surprised how?"

The dwarf sighed, frustrated, scratching the back of his head. "I can't tell you, okay? You'll know it, an… You two are going to need to talk for a while. I'll see you tonight."

Fenris was baffled at Varric, who in turn gave him a pat on the arm as he walked past back to the main hall. He was stunned, frozen in his spot, but he also couldn't wait any longer. He knocked on the door.

"Come in," came the voice on the other side and he felt his heart surge with happiness. It was her voice. He turned the door handle and gently pushed it open.

—

When the door opened, she was not facing him, head down at her writing desk. She so badly wanted to fling herself into his arms again, but now she couldn't move.

Ever since she had written that letter to Fenris, she had begun to worry. First it was whether or not the letter would reach him, but within a few weeks, the same raven she had sent brought his reply to her. It was a short note of confirmation so she could stop fretting. But even since then, she had worried more, worried at what he was going to say. She had been right all along, ever since their separation six months ago. In fact, since that day, she had not thought about it much until it finally began to show on her body. She noticed her stomach just beginning to protrude, a softness over her muscle, and she knew what was happening.

And yet it never stopped her from doing everything she had done. She had managed to hide her pregnancy from everyone under thick robes and armour. She had still gone to fight with the Inquisition in the Western Approach, and even Adamant where she had been taken to the Fade when the Inquisitor tore the fabrics of reality open. And in her time there, she would still have been willing to sacrifice herself to save the others. Of course, she was glad she ended up not, but that guilt would be on her for a long time yet.

Since Adamant, she considered going with the Wardens to Weisshaupt after the Inquisitor banished them, and with good reason. She couldn't approve of the Inquisitor's decision, but it wasn't hers to make. When she considered leaving, her secret was revealed. Varric had seen her as she was putting on layers of cloaks, seeing the bump of her stomach through her normal clothes. She had heard it then from him, the how could you's, the why didn't you tell me's. He convinced her to stay, she was safe here. She wasn't going to get to the Anderfels very comfortably when she was with child. So she sent a letter to Fenris, the spymaster Leliana assuring her the ravens could find anyone anywhere. She wasn't going to question how.

Afterwards, her bump began to grow at a rapid pace. There were healers experienced with expectant mothers, even mages the same way, and they told her she and her baby were perfectly healthy. It was the single happiest moment she had since arriving at the Inquisition. It was only then did she begin to seriously consider the fact that she was going to be a mother. She began to sing each night songs she remembered her parents singing, making up half the words she didn't remember, while sitting in a chair by the fireplace in her room. When she received a letter back from Fenris, she began to wonder her life with him and their unborn child. It quickly turned to worry over how he would react. Not just to her being pregnant, but being pregnant and not telling him for six months. She just prayed he might understand.

"Marian?" Fenris called softly, his voice making him sound like he feared the worst.

She stood up from the desk, robes flowing loosely around her, but not enough to hide the swell of her belly. She placed one hand over the bump and slowly turned around. She could feel tears already welling up when she faced him. The first thing he saw were her eyes, only for a second, before his gaze inevitably moved down to her midsection. She could tell he was trying to process what he was seeing, trying to make sense of what had just been presented to him. She was willing to bet he had thought of a million scenes in his head of what their reunion might look like. He wasn't counting on this. He had so many questions but couldn't articulate a single one.

For a solid twenty seconds he just stared at her, and it was beginning to make her uncomfortable so she stepped forward, trying desperately to guess what he might say.

"Fenris," she breathed, trying to goad him out of his shock. She got his attention and he looked up again, large green eyes wide and so unreadable as always. He shut the door behind him and closed the space between them, cupping her face and kissing her hard on the mouth. Hawke's tears had begun to spill, wetting both of their faces. His close contact had her bump slightly pressing against his stomach, the first time he had felt it, and then he pulled away. Hawke laughed, and she didn't know why. "Surprise!" she choked behind a sob, still with an uncontrollable smile across her face.

She invited him to sit on the edge of the bed with her. He had taken off his gauntlets, holding her hands in his, but he had not yet said a word. Hawke considered beginning to explain herself, but she waited patiently for him.

He broke his silence eventually. "Did you know?" His gaze was on her stomach.

"When we last saw each other? No." Hawke wiped at her eyes when he didn't respond, trying not to cry anymore, but the pressure behind her eyes was beginning to ache.

He noticed this and placed one arm around her, bringing her close to kiss her on the temple. _Don't be sad_, he was silently telling her. "Just tell me what happened."

Hawke swallowed, feeling just a tiny bit better with his lips pressed against the top of her head. "I don't know how it happened. My magic must have been too weak to prevent it." She felt bad saying it, mostly because had become attached to the baby inside her, and she didn't like to think of it as something that should have been prevented. But she continued. "I didn't even know for sure until a few months ago."

She heard him inhale sharply. "And you didn't tell me then?"

That fact stung her, but she kept her resolve. "The Inquisition needed me still. If I told anyone, we could have all been doomed."

"And why would they be?"

Hawke didn't have an answer for that. She shook her head, thinking of all the reasons she could have given. She could have given him the fact that she felt dutifully bound since it was she, they, who failed to kill Corypheus and brought him back into the world in the first place. She thought that anything should have been done to stop the world from being torn apart. There were all sorts of reasons, but for Fenris to hear them from her, it would sound like complete bullshit.

Instead she felt him laughing, just slightly. "I'd say this is classic you," he mumbled, emotion returning to his voice. "You had to do this for the world because nobody else could, right?" Fenris pulled away, finally smiling, and Hawke's face flushed, but she returned the smile.

"Well, I'm not saying _that._" She leaned in to kiss his lips, barely touching. "But I'm the only one who could do it _right_."

"Of course, even while with child." He seemed to lose his voice on the last word, his gaze brought back to her stomach. She still didn't know what his thoughts were on that.

"If you don't want to-" Hawke said, and immediately he looked offended.

"Are you daft? Hawke, I have told you before, the thought of living without you…"

Her heart swelled when he said it and brought her in for another kiss. She brought his other hand to rest on her stomach. "You're going to be a father."

The realization seemed to hit him for the first time when his face lit up. His touch was so delicate on her, smoothing over the curve of her belly. He let it stay there for a moment, preventing himself from worrying about everything else accompanied with their upcoming parenthood. They were probably the least qualified couple in Thedas for having a child together, but they were in the safest place in crumbling world. In any case, they would have to make it work, and he was sure Varric was off scribbling letters to all their friends now that Fenris knew.

Maybe they knew what they were in for.


End file.
